


Shakespeare and Spinning Heads

by pandibicth



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fever, Gen, M/M, Pining, Shakespeare Quotations, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sick Fic, Sickness, i have a vocabulary of exactly 4 words dont hold it against me, richie is just sick and delirious and also gay, this is sooo dumb and also it makes no fucking sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandibicth/pseuds/pandibicth
Summary: Eddie pays a visit to Richie when he catches the flu.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Shakespeare and Spinning Heads

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW this might seem weirdly of actuality but i swear i started writing this months ago this is a coincidence  
> anyway if the sonnets quoted dont mean what i thik they mean that is on me i didnt take the time to analyse it all so ypu caught me slipping ig!! but also like maybe richie just didnt understand it he is 13  
> right enjoy

Every noise is echoing around him. He can barely keep his eyes open, and the little he sees through swollen eyelids is vaguely very dark, like his eyelashes had melted to form a filter on his eyeballs.

Someone is talking, he thinks, and someone is breathing very hard. Near his head, rapid footsteps thud on the blue carpet, and he forces his eyes open to see if it is a forest monster like he thought. It turns out to be the very scrunched up face of Eddie, which is a very funny name when he thinks about it (which he can’t do for very long), small and cutesy. It doesn't really suit Eddie. He also supposes the rest of his body is there alongside his head, but he can't make any assumptions yet. 

"Richie," Eddie's head says, with very wide eyes. He pays no mind to it, not realizing that the Richie fellow is him. He looks at Eddie's eyes instead, which seems infinitely more interesting right now. In fact, they seem like the most interesting thing in the whole world. He thinks of the love poems that Shakespeare wrote that Mrs Teagan made them study in English last month, and he is sure that they were all about the exact shade of brown Eddie's eyes were in the light of the late afternoon.

"I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief" he mumbles, the words crashing into each other, tasting dry and mad. The space between Eddie's eyebrows creases even more, and Richie thinks with desperation that it's the opposite of what he wants. "As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie. That is my home of love," he tries again, wishing Eddie's mouth would curve the way it did when he thought Richie was being charming, but refused to let it show, but Richie could always tell. 

Something grabs his wrist, and Richie startles, sure that it's the forest monster, or worse, the one that observes him from the crack in his dresser, which means that he finally got out. "Richie, it's just me." Eddie's head says, and when Richie looks down, Eddie's tan fingers are wrapped below his palm, his thumb grazing the pale blue line visible under his skin. They are very warm, but not sweaty, and they go around his whole wrist. It should make him feel caged, he thinks, but instead it makes him feel safe, safer, like an embrace.

He hears something crash, maybe Eddie's backpack, maybe his head that finally realized it can't stay in the air without his body. Eddie is babbling about fever and the flu, about Richie being a dickhead. He shivers, and realizes that his sheets have melted into his skin, and scrambles to rip them off. Eddie's hands gently catch his wrists and rest them on the mattress. "I'll do it, those are disgusting," he says very softly, but it sound like he's saying something else entirely. 

His head is spinning terribly, and the piercing gaze of the monster in his closet is making his stomach churn. "O, never say that I was false of heart," he croaks, and promptly throws up in the red bucket his mom gave him this morning.

A hand is gently rubbing his back and a rough tissue is wiping his mouth. It's Eddie, he realizes. Eddie. Ed-die. Almost Ay-dee, really. For the life of him he can't remember what Eddie is short for. "It's Edward, Richie." He likes how Eddie says Richie, harsh on the ch and soft on the ie, like its Ritchie. He thinks maybe it's the most beautiful word, when Eddie says it. 

He blinks slowly at Eddie’s worried expression, reaching a hand to rest on his cheekbone. His eyes are all glassy and shiny, like if he blinks an ocean is going to drown them all. “Don’t cry,” he croaks, and sure enough, a fat tear rolls down Eddie’s cheek, wetting Richie’s fingertips. “I hate seeing you like this.” Eddie sniffed. Richie catches the monster’s eye, clear even in the darkness of the dresser. Eddie’s grip on his other hand tightens, his thumb pressed against his pulse point. “You should rest,” he adds, and already any proof of the fact that he had been crying at all his gone from his face, replaced by firm determination. 

Richie lets his head fall against his pillow, ignoring the way it makes his head spins. He passes out without much fuss.

***

When he wakes up again, the whole room is blue and Eddie is gone. Richie flexes his hand, wondering if he hallucinated the whole encounter. His sheets are neatly folded at the end of the bed, and his bucket his vomit-free. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” he asks the empty room, and smiles to himself, remembering the softness of Eddie's warm skin against his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> i am on twitter @pandibicth and on tumblr @augusteelpd please leave a kudo and or a comment of you enjoy i read every single comment and i always respond they mean a lot to me


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